


Ankavandra

by ottermo



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Baby-fic, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin may be flying with Swiss Airways now, but his heart will always be with the crew of OJS - and the newest chapter of his life will be written with that in mind. (Unashamedly a baby-fic. This is what my life has come to.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ankavandra

**Author's Note:**

> Who even knows where this is going to end up. Certainly not me! Maybe Douglas knows. Douglas always knows...

“All right…. Ashton Keynes.”

“Challenge.” Douglas tried to keep the irritation from his voice. As soon as he found out how his opponent was cheating at Place Name Dominoes he was going to give him what for.

“It’s in Wiltshire. My sister lives there. Google it.”

“Drat. _Milton_ Keynes.” A more obvious one, but better to reply straight away than leave a gap.

“Milton Regis.”

“Ah, easy, Bognor Regis.”

“…Lyme Regis.”

“Aha! Can’t re-use ‘Regis’, it was ‘Bognor’ we were looking for. Better luck next time.” Douglas smirked. At last. Loath though he was to admit it, the days of effortless victory had ended when Martin left for Switzerland. Now he had to work harder and longer for that satisfaction during the lazy days spent on stand.

“As I recall, you placed no restrictions on which word followed over to the next turn. All you said was the new place had to use one word of the previous two.”

“Clearly you’ve not played a lot of Dominoes. Only the exposed end of the chain is open for play except in the case of spinner.”

“Clearly you’ve limited your experience to that of traditional Dominoes. In the Maltese Cross Variation, you’ll find—”

The protestations of the first officer were interrupted by the loud, insistent ring of Douglas’s mobile. Douglas inwardly congratulated himself on a good choice of pilot-silencing ringtone.

“Sounds _fascinating_ , Herc, truly, but if you could just hold that thought…”

He glanced at the caller ID before answering. In the split second it took to lift the phone to his ear he felt a faint twinge of _something_ as the contact name ‘Sir’ brought back years of playful rivalry which had, at some point, tumbled headlong into actual friendship. “Martin! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Douglas, hello, can I just—I mean could you—” the voice sounded strained and nervous, even these few syllables falling over one another haphazardly. Little change there.

“Sorry, should that be ‘Prince’ Martin now? Or perhaps Your Serene Highness?”

“It’s just I don’t know what to do and I just thought—I mean I have to—because you always know what to do and—I need to—”

Even for Martin this was sounding unusually panicked. Douglas decided to drop the teasing for the moment. “I think what you need is to breathe, for a second, and calm down, and then perhaps consider telling me what the matter is. I’m flattered that you came to me for a dose of wisdom, Martin, but I’m afraid my mind-reading powers just don’t work down the phone line as well as they do face-to-face.”

There was a pause on Martin’s end. “Okay. Calm, yes. Very calm. I am calm. This is me…being calm.”

“That’s more like it. Now – and please try to use full sentences this time – what is the matter?”

“It’s _today_ , Douglas.”

“What is? Oh! You mean—”

“Yes! She’s just gone in!”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? I’m sure it will all go _swimmingly_ —”

“But I’m supposed to _be_ there!”

Douglas could hear Martin’s voice rising once more to the panicked peak of hysteria. Herc was looking at him questioningly, clearly hearing the heightened tones from across the office.

“What! So why aren’t you?”

“Because I’m in ANKAVANDRA!”

“Bless you.”

“Madagascar, Douglas, I’m in _bloody_ Madagascar! We’re not flying back ’til the morning and I’ve got no way of getting home any faster and can you just _tell me what to do_ please because you’ve done this before and I haven’t and you always know what to do every time—”

“Touching though your faith in me is, Martin, and however much I’d love to help, I’m afraid I’m in Fitton, and you, as you’ve explained quite clearly, are in Madagascar. There’s about five thousand miles between you and your beloved at this current time, and even if I could swing by in GERTI and pick you up – which I can’t, by the way – it would take us ten hours at least to get to you and then another nine or so to get back to Liechtenstein, so...”

“ _I know all that_!” Martin sounded near to breaking point. Douglas trailed off. “I know I can’t be there. I’m not asking you to get me there, Douglas, I’m asking…” There was a pause. A shuddery breath. “I’m asking how I’m supposed to just _wait_.”

“Ah.”

“What do I do? I can’t just _sit_ here.”

“Well, it seems you haven’t got much choice.”

“I’m… Douglas, I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can. Nothing easier.”

“I can’t, I’m not ready, I’ve got no idea what I’m doing. I’m going to get it wrong because I _always_ do…”

“Ah, I see. We’re not talking about waiting in Madagascar any more, are we?”

“No.” It was a forlorn voice, the voice of someone very, very young and very, very afraid.

Douglas sighed deeply. “You might not be able to believe this, Martin, but at the beginning I was just as terrified as you are right now.”

There came a snort of derision, and Douglas was pleased to hear the sound. “I’m _so_ sure.”

“No, I was. I’m not just saying that.” Douglas paused, unsure just how sickly-sweet he was prepared to let this show of solidarity become. “You’re going to do just fine. Because I said so, and I’m always right.”

Martin said nothing for a long moment.

“Thanks.”

“Not at all,” Douglas let the last syllable hang for a second before adding, with more than a single note of pride in his voice, “… _Dad_.”


	2. Berne Belp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is excited. Everyone's excited.

It was the fastest cup of tea Arthur Shappey had ever produced. For a man already known for his excitable disposition, he had perhaps outdone himself today in his eagerness to get back into the room. Douglas was not convinced the kettle had been given enough time to reach boiling point, and the tea was looking suspiciously watery, as if, say, a teabag had only been fleetingly introduced into its life before being cruelly snatched away.

“Anything?” Arthur asked, excitedly, placing Douglas’s mug down so firmly on his desk that some of the offending liquid splashed onto the recipient's shirt sleeve.

“Despite your prolonged absence, Arthur, no, there’s been no news in any of the seventy-five whole seconds you missed.” Douglas dabbed at the tea on his shirt with a tissue, shooting the young steward a slightly disdainful look.

“Sorry, Skip! I’m just—so excited!”

“You’re certainly masking it very well.” Douglas grinned at him. “Not that I blame you. It _is_ rather – now, what’s the word? Begins with a B, I believe…”

“Brilliant. _Completely_ brilliant.”

“That’s it.” Douglas’s phone was on his desk, propped up by a pile of seldom-opened manuals, ready to be snatched up and answered immediately when there was news to be known. So far, since Martin’s first panicked phone call the day before, it had remained stubbornly silent.

The door to the portakabin opened again and Carolyn entered, closely followed by Herc, who was carrying two recyclable, steaming cups of coffee.

“Morning, Douglas,” said Carolyn, in her usual tone of cheeriness mixed with potential rage energy. “I sincerely hope there has been no news, because if I find out that you already know something and didn’t phone me _immediately_ to pass it on, you’ll be introduced to a world of pain.”

“Nothing yet,” Douglas confirmed, smiling slightly at the thought of Carolyn – _Carolyn_ – being quite so possessive about news of the imminent arrival. “Is it espresso day today? I missed the company memo.” He looked pointedly at Herc’s cupholding display.

“Oh, Douglas, don’t tell me you let Arthur make you _tea_ ,” Carolyn said in disbelief. “ _Today_? Surely you didn’t expect to end up with something palatable when he’s this excited?”

Douglas masked the fact that this hadn’t occurred to him with a wry smile and a sneery, “Arthur’s _always_ excited, and besides, it’s lovely.” He took a large swig of his supposed tea, wishing he hadn’t before, during and after the action. “Lovely.” He repeated, somewhat less convincingly.

Arthur was still moving around the room at an alarming speed. “Why are you _all_ not excited? We’re getting a baby Martin!”

Herc chuckled at him. “We _are_ excited, Arthur…but if we were all doing what you’re doing we’d break some furniture. We’ll let you carry on demonstrating the physical reality of our collective inner excitement, if it’s all the same to you.”

Arthur didn’t bat an eyelid. “Brilliant!”

“And, technically speaking, _we_ are not getting a baby Martin,” Carolyn added gently. “I hate to remind you again, dear heart, but Martin and Theresa are the ones who are really getting a baby… of course we’ll be visiting, but we’re not going to get to see him or her all the time…”

Her son laughed at this clearly preposterous suggestion. “Mum! Don’t be silly, we’ve got an aeroplane! Of course we’ll be seeing them all the time!”

“We do have an aeroplane, that is true. However, since it is the sole aeroplane upon which our business relies, we cannot use GERTI to fly back and forth between Fitton and Vaduz for the rest of her days!”

Arthur considered this, even halting slightly to do so. He quickly recovered his pace, though. “Well then. We’ll just have to move to Liechtenstein.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”

Douglas grinned. Herc finally seemed to give up on the idea that Carolyn was ever going to take her drink from him, and set them both down on the empty desk.

“I’m afraid I will have to put my foot down on this one,” Arthur said matter-of-factly. “Because like Theresa said my responsibilities are of paramount importance, as the baby’s god-brother.”

Carolyn couldn’t help but smile at the name. She had been extremely touched to receive the title of godmother from Martin, something she would never in a million years have expected when she first interviewed him for the position as first officer all those years ago, but even that moment had been topped by her discovery that Liechtenstein’s newest royal couple had extended the baby’s official god-family to include an excitable, Labrador-puppy of a 33-year-old brother. Oblivious of the slightly invented status of his new title, Arthur had immediately begun a career as Baby Expert, reading at least four pages of Baby Facts and even penning a few storybooks in his own childlike handwriting. All of them featured Brilliant Baby and Super Steward, and chronicled the adventures of the duo as they travelled the world in a sixteen-seater jet. Literary gold they were not, but Carolyn had to admit they were verging on heart-warming.

It was painful, then, to have to keep reminding Arthur that he might not be able to be as involved in the baby’s life as he’d clearly like to be. Once the sheer thrill of their triumph over Gordon had abated, her son's usual cheeriness had waned somewhat in the weeks following Martin’s departure, but upon Theresa’s announcement it had soared back to the dizzying heights of yesteryear, and had stayed that way for all seven months. It was coming up for three years now since the very last MJN flight, but Carolyn privately thought that the last few months had been the happiest ones for Arthur in that entire period. Her eternally positive son was clearly convinced that the baby’s arrival was going to change everything, and it tugged on her slightly frayed heartstrings every time she remembered that it probably wasn’t. Not for them.

“How’s the book coming along, Arthur?” Douglas inquired, eager to steer the conversation from the well-trodden route of Fitton vs. Liechtenstein.

Arthur beamed. “It’s great! I’m still on the same bit as yesterday, because I thought since it’s so close now I might as well wait until we know if it’s a baby Prince or a baby Princess, then I can go back and put all the hims and hers in where I left the gaps. And colour in the clothes in all the pictures. Though I don’t think the baby will mind much what colour it’s wearing in the pictures. Or at all really. I quite like pink and Mum wears blue all the time so I think all this colour business is mostly silly.”

Herc nodded sagely. “Meaningless colour-to-gender designation. It’s all to do with the fact that gender is a largely social construct which has little or nothing to do with genetics.” Douglas raised his eyebrows at him. Arthur had no expression on his face. “I mean. You’re right, Arthur.”

The steward smiled again. “Brilliant!”

Carolyn had crossed the room and was eyeing the company wall-chart. “You know, we’re booked to fly a crate load of light-bulb fittings out from Switzerland on Wednesday. We’re collecting them from the Berne Belp airport. I’m sure whoever is expecting them is depending greatly on their safe arrival. Perhaps it would be a good idea to fly out there a couple of days early to ensure we’re definitely there to pick them up.”

Herc smiled at her. If Carolyn was feeling particularly venomous she might call it a simper. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“It does sound like a very wise precaution,” Douglas chimed in. “And of course…if we do happen to arrive early for any reason…and if there are any maternity wards in Vaduz in desperate need of visitors…”

All three of them turned to Arthur, waiting for the penny to drop.

“Wow!” He exclaimed. “There’s an actual place called Berne Belp?”

“Yes, there is, but—” Carolyn began, but trailed off almost immediately.

Douglas’s phone had begun to ring.

“Hello, Martin? Hold on, I’m putting you on speakerphone…”


	3. Camberley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently, I am literally only able to write dialogue. It is my curse.

Arthur’s head was practically resting on Douglas’s shoulder, so keen was he to be as close as possible to the phone. Carolyn and Herc were on the other side of the desk, grinning like twin Cheshires trying to outdo each other at a cat show.

Quickly the excited expressions melted into looks of concern though, as the crew of OJS Air listened to the whimpery, snuffling sounds coming from the phone.

“Martin?” Douglas said almost sharply, trying to swallow down the first tendrils of panic. “Is everything all right?”

A torrent of dreadful possibilities were streaming through his brain, each more sinister than the last. No, he tried to tell himself, it can’t be, it can’t be.

“Martin?” It was barely more than a whisper. Carolyn attempted to give Arthur a reassuring smile across the table, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at the phone with the heartbreak of a thousand abandoned puppies etched into his boyish features.

After what seemed like a fair few centuries (but was probably only a couple of seconds), Martin’s voice returned to them, and they all breathed matching sighs of relief.

“Hello!” he said, somehow managing to sound cheery and teary at the same time. “Sorry, I was just – It’s all fine! Everyone’s fine! Especially – especially my daughter! She’s….she’s so beautiful, Douglas.”

“Oh wow, brilliant! Congratulations!”

“Oh, hello Arthur! …Who else is there?”

“Just us,” Carolyn chimed in. Herc echoed Arthur’s ‘congratulations’.

“Oh. Um. That…what you heard before, there was, there was something in my eye.”

Carolyn chuckled. “We’ve heard that one before.”

Martin sighed, and then laughed too, with just a tinge of hysterical tension-release. “Theresa told me I wouldn’t be able to phone straight away without doing that, I was trying to prove her wrong. Should have waited a minute. Not very professional.”

“Well, this is hardly a professional business.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“Martin,” Carolyn continued, “I was going to just politely wait but it seems you’re just going to sigh dreamily at us down the phoneline, which I’m sure is quite charming, but I for one would like to know the baby’s weight, whether she has hair, whether she’s got a name yet and how Theresa is getting on. Tedious though such a request might seem.”

Herc rolled his eyes at her. Carolyn elbowed him.

“Erm, well, she…she weighs seven pounds nine ounces. Just a tiny little bit above average, which is good, well, it wouldn’t really matter if she was a little bit smaller or a little bit bigger, but it’s nice to know she’s within a normal range—”

“Excellent,” Douglas chipped in, “Unlike her father, she may escape a life of step-ladders, short jokes and never being able to get a good view of a parade.”

“Yes,” Martin said distantly. Douglas snickered.

“Anyway. Um, there is a little bit of hair. Dark, like Theresa’s. Um, and we haven’t got a name set in stone yet. Theresa has a lot of quite scary and quite royal relatives and we’ve got to name her after one of them. Or some of them, even. I’ll let you know when we’ve decided.”

“And how is Theresa?” Herc asked politely.

“Oh! She’s fine! She’s very, very…fine. Tired. But happy.”

“How long since the last time you slept, Martin?”

“We-ell, I managed to get an earlier flight back from Ankavandra yesterday afternoon, not actually that long after I phoned you, and then it turned out that they’d taken Theresa into hospital very very early what with her being, well, a princess I suppose, so things didn’t actually start happening until just after I arrived in the early hours of the morning, which meant I didn’t have to miss very much if I didn’t sleep, and since the actual birth I’ve just been crying and phoning people mostly, so, um, I think, only about… twenty-seven hours? Not too long…and I wasn’t working very hard…Theresa’s more tired than me!”

“I’m sure she is,” Carolyn conceded. “Well done her.”

“Lost for words, Arthur?” Herc inquired, glancing over at his stepson during the pause in the conversation.

Arthur just beamed. “It’s just…it’s just so _brilliant_!”

“Ah, yes,” said Douglas, “Life begets life begets life begets life. Nothing ever changes. And Arthur is always on hand with the right word.”

“I think possibly,” Martin mused aloud, “Today is the most brilliant day that I have ever been alive on.”

This was allowed to hang in the air for a moment or too. Then the disembodied voice of their previous captain seemed to snap out of its reverie. “Oh! And I’ve just remembered. I…I want to ask you a quite enormous favour, Carolyn…”

Carolyn raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“It’s just…if it wouldn’t be too much trouble…we’d cover the costs, obviously….do you think there’s any way you could fly over today or tomorrow?”

Carolyn chuckled, “Martin, that’s hardly—”

“I know, I’m sorry, I can’t really expect you to, you’ve probably got a job on or something anyway—”

“No, Martin, that’s not what I meant, we were already thinking of—”

“We’re coming, Martin!” Arthur exclaimed. “We’re coming straight away! Immediately now, this actual minute!”

“That’s…that’s great! Thank you, Carolyn, but, um, I’m afraid I do have a slight ulterior motive, I mean, I do want you four here, obviously, because you’re, well, you know, but I was going to ask…if you’d mind bringing my mum, Simon and Caitlin with you as well?”

Douglas chuckled, “Ah! Terrific, Simon can regale us with tales of his administration…or perhaps even Administrate: The Musical! I’m looking forward to it already.”

Carolyn smoothly ignored her captain. “Of course, Martin, it would be our pleasure. Do they know about this, or are we to fly GERTI into your mother’s house and surprise her with some broken windows?”

Years ago a question phrased like that by Carolyn Knapp-Shappey would have sent Martin into a frenzy of confused apologies, but by now he could pick up the playful tone in her newly-surnamed voice even without seeing her smile.

“No, I did mention it to them. I’ll phone them now and confirm. Simon’s been in Camberley for work or something but he’s on his way back home to bring Mum and Caitlin to Fitton. Thank you, again.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that, you know,” Arthur said in his confidential voice. “Mum actually loves babies. She’d even fly Mr Birling somewhere for free if it meant coming to see the baby.”

Carolyn grimaced. “Arthur, you needn’t make me sound quite so…motherly.” She extracted the word from her teeth as if it had gone rotten in her mouth. “I’m not _completely_ soft.”

Martin chuckled. “That…that is really not a word I would ever use for you, Carolyn, no. Um… one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“Please _don’t_ bring Mr Birling with you.”

“No fear.”

“Although,” Douglas began, “It _is_ traditional to wet a baby’s head, and if we happened to have a bottle of Talisker lying around…”

“Absolutely not.” Carolyn aimed a vague scowl in Douglas’s direction, but even that was tempered by the happiness that was filling the little office the way an otter might fill a fridge.

A few seconds passed, and the four occupants of the room bathed in the happiness a little longer.

“Anyway,” Martin said finally. “Thank you, so much. I suppose I’ll see you later. I can hear…I can hear _my daughter_ crying, I’d better go in and…and gawp at her for a bit while Theresa sorts it out. I’m beginning to think that’s mostly what fatherhood is.”

“True,” Douglas and Herc said almost in unison. Carolyn tutted. Arthur continued to smile seraphically.

“Well...bye for now.” Martin said softly. The small crew all said their goodbyes, Arthur throwing in a ‘Say hello to the baby from me!’, and then he rang off.

And for a long moment, the four of them were left staring into space, each feeling, in very different ways – and yet somehow also quite similarly – that everything had indeed changed _forever_. 


	4. Dunkirk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should maybe do some research on Liechtenstein one of these days. But then, I figure, John Finnemore gave them a king for the sake of the story, so this is clearly a Liechtenstein AU in the first place. Anything goes! Maybe. Oh, also, beware the OC in this chapter. I don't really know what I'm going to do with her yet. Hooray.

“I just…I just think it would be really nice if she had your mother’s name.” Martin said affably, eyes fixed on the small, serene face of his newborn daughter. The naming conversation was going to take longer than he’d thought. It turned out that they were pretty much expected to select at least three names for the baby, which, together with Theresa’s two quite lengthy surnames, seemed a ridiculous amount of syllables for such a tiny, tiny little person.

“Martin, you’re terrified of my mother.”

“Well, obviously. She’s terrifying. Have you met her? She’s the most fear-inspiring dowager princess I’ve ever had as a mother-in-law. I still think it would be a nice gesture.”

Theresa grinned at him. He thought he was being so subtle. “Ah, yes. And it has _nothing_ to do with the fact, of course, that her name is _Gertrude_ …”

Martin gave her a look of baffled innocence. “What do you mean?”

“We are not naming our daughter after an aeroplane, Martin…”

“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear. All right, not as her first name, then. But one of the middle names? Something Gertrude Something. Or Something Something Gertrude.”

The princess of Liechtenstein sighed. “Well, all right. Maybe. It’s not a bad idea, it’ll give my mother something to bore all her friends with.” She yawned, and snuggled slightly further down into her hospital bed. “Why didn’t we have this conversation earlier?”

“Well, we thought we had a couple more weeks, for a start…” Martin reminded her. “I wonder if she’ll keep up this habit of being early for everything.”

“Perhaps she’ll master talking early, too. And then she can choose her own names.” Theresa yawned again.

“Maybe you should try and get a bit more sleep,” Martin suggested, gently.

“That is a…very good idea,” she agreed, wearily.

It took her a matter of seconds to drift off to sleep. Martin chuckled silently to himself, then bent very carefully to kiss her on the forehead, which was no mean feat when carrying a newborn.

He still wasn’t quite used to the way it felt, to hold the little babygro full of skin and bones and hopes and dreams and tears and smiles and _life_ , and feel the faintest tickle of her milky breath on his cheek. His arms felt heavy, as if his body was not up to the task of holding back everything he felt from coursing through every fibre of him, filling up his limbs and his mind and his throat. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he imagined himself alone on an island, wind hurling around him and threatening to whisk him off into the sea, and he was holding on desperately to the tiny bundle in his arms, knowing that this new life was, at that moment, depending completely on him for her survival and wellbeing, and yet feeling utterly, utterly lost in the enormity of the task.

Vaguely, it registered somewhere in his brain that he was about to go into a full-blown panic attack if he wasn’t careful. _Breathe_ , he reminded himself. _Slower. Slower_.

Gradually the wind dropped, until it was no longer a howling gale but merely a strong breeze, not one he could block out entirely, but at least one he could get through standing up.

He crossed to the window. They’d given Theresa a luxurious private room on the fourth floor of the hospital, and the view was rather breath-taking. There were hardly any areas of Liechtenstein which could be described as ‘densely populated’, but from this window especially he could see for miles and miles of green hills and valleys. The rest of the town stretched in the opposite direction, and the few buildings he could see from this angle were few and far between. It was at times like this that the meaning of the word ‘picturesque’ took on a very real meaning.

And the sky. The sky stretched itself gracefully over the landscape, cool blue interrupted only by the smallest of clouds. There was not an aeroplane in sight. Airportless Liechtenstein’s airspace was not overly crowded, even in high season. The sleeping clouds drifted their separate ways in peace.

“When you’re old enough to appreciate health and safety procedures,” Martin whispered to his sleeping daughter, “I’ll take you up there. But not a moment sooner.”  

“First sign of madness, brother,” came a soft voice from the doorway, “talking to a baby who couldn’t understand you even if she was awake.”

Martin turned slowly, so as not to disturb said baby. “Hello, Theo,” he whispered, moving towards his youngest sister-in-law slowly. “How…how long have you been standing there?”

She smiled at him. “Not long. I only just arrived, I got bored of waiting for Maxi and mother to finish getting ready so I came on my own.”

She put her arms out towards the baby, a questioning look on her face. Martin nodded and gently placed her new niece in her arms.

“Sorry you’ve lost your title,” he murmured. “You’re not the youngest princess of Liechtenstein anymore.”

She didn’t catch his eye, just carried on staring, enchanted, at the baby. “Oh, it was only a matter of time. I plan to be the favourite aunt, by the way. Just letting you know.”

Martin mock-frowned, “Well, you’ve got a lot of competition.”

She shrugged, inasmuch as one can shrug while holding the youngest princess in Europe. “It was easy enough to become _your_ favourite. Shouldn’t be too difficult, the others are old and boring.”

Martin grinned. She was right, as it happened, Theodora definitely was his favourite of all Theresa’s sisters. At twenty, she was only four years older than the reigning King of Liechtenstein, her precocious brother Maxi, but she was infinitely more pleasant to be around. Maximilian had matured a lot since Martin’s first meeting with him over three years ago, but in Martin’s opinion he still had a long way to go.

Still, he reminded himself somewhat bitterly, all Maxi’d got to do was rule a nation. That _was_ childsplay compared to bringing up an actual child.

Then he realised the slightly ridiculous nature of this thought and attempted to dismiss it with a derisive snort, but somehow the derision got mixed up in another wave of terror as the wind around the island picked up again suddenly. The noise came out as more of a wail.

“Martin?” Theodora was looking at him worriedly. “Are you all right?”

“What? …Fine.” he said, not wholly convincingly. “It’s just…” he flung his arms vaguely in the direction of _everything, in particular_ , “all this. It’s…quite…I mean it’s just huge. Too huge.”

Theo rolled her eyes and addressed the bundle in her arms. “You have a very funny Daddy, yes you do.”

“Oh great, yes, get her used to the idea that I’m a hopeless case before she’s old enough to be disappointed!” Even Martin could hear the pitifully desperate ring of his voice now, even as he tried to keep it quiet for the sleeping Theresa.

“Stop it, Martin, just stop. You’re going to be good at this, if you’d only stop thinking of her as…as one of your aeroplanes! She’s not a machine you’re going to crash if you make the slightest little mistake. She’s a person, you’re a person, the only difference is she’s supposed to make you the happiest man in the world, not scare you half to death!”

He glared at her, suddenly indignant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Give her here.”

Theodora handed the baby over, trying to suppress a grin.

“I know perfectly well what I’m doing, thank you.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’m not worried about what my role is.”

“Naturally not.”

“And I’m certainly not scared.”

“Nope.”

“Well then. Glad we got that settled.”

Theo chuckled and stood slightly on her tiptoes to kiss Martin on the cheek (the really lovely thing about the Liechtensteinian royal family was that they all seemed to be even smaller than him). “You’re going to be just fine, brother dear.”

Martin grinned at her sheepishly. “Thanks.”

The second-youngest princess of Liechtenstein’s phone beeped in her pocket. She glanced at the text. “My mother’s here. I’ve got to go and escort her from the entrance, far be it from her to walk through a commoners’ hospital unguided.”

Martin smirked.

“When does your family get here?”

He considered this. “If they left when Douglas said they were going to, they should be over Dunkirk by now, or just approaching it.”

She shook her head at him as she made her way to the door. “Have you even got a brain in there, or is it all just maps?”

He chuckled. “Maps. And manuals.”

Once she was gone, Martin teased his brain vaguely in the direction of the thought that in a couple of hours his _family_ was going to arrive to meet his _daughter_.

If you’d told him five years ago that one day that sentence would be true of his life, he’d not have believed you.

If you’d told him five years ago that one day the word ‘family’ would conjure up a picture, not just of his mother and siblings, but also of Douglas, Arthur, Carolyn and Herc, he’d have laughed you out of the room.

Funny how things work out. 


	5. Epping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has some important questions.

* * *

 

Thankfully, when his brother had decided that only royalty would do, Martin had not strayed too far from home to find a princess to marry. Simon had just about grown to enjoy his occasional flights to and from Vaduz with OJS, but he was rather glad the journeys weren’t any longer than they already were. The steward was – how should he put it? Friendly. To the extreme.

“Your coffee, sir! I mean, Simon! Sorry, I’m just so used to saying sir! Or madam. But in this case it would be sir. Only it’s not, it’s Simon, because we’re friends! I think. Um…here’s your coffee!”

“Thank you, Arthur,” the senior council administrator said politely as he took the steaming cup. Seeing the younger man hover, he obligingly sipped it straight away. “Ah, yes. Perfect.”

The steward beamed. “Brilliant!”

A few seconds were allowed to slither by. Arthur seemed in no hurry to move. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”

Arthur cleared his throat, “Er, yes, actually. I hope you don’t mind, it’s perfectly normal procedure, but as the, er, the baby’s god-brother, I am actually required to conduct a short interview with each of her relatives before the er, the royal meeting.”

Simon raised his eyebrows, amused. “Is that right? I had no idea, my apologies – ask away.”

“Okay. The first question is – as the princess’s uncle, how do you view your avuncly responsibilities?”

“…I think the word you’re looking for is avuncular.”

The steward regarded him for a moment. “They’re both words, actually,” he proclaimed, “But let’s go with your one, because it sounds like a mixture between ‘Garfunkel’ and ‘binoculars’.”

“It does, rather, doesn’t it.”

The Royal God-Brother looked at Simon expectantly. “Ah! Yes. My avuncular responsibilities. Well…since the baby was born in, will live in, and is indeed a princess of Liechtenstein, I rather think my – responsibilities – will be limited to Skype calls, twice-annual visits and nice, thoughtful presents on birthdays and Christmas. It’ll be a shame not to see little Marty’s even littler one a bit more often, but the way things are… well. He’s never wanted me around very much, and now he lives in Liechtenstein. If he _will_ go round marrying foreign princesses, sacrifices have to be made.”

Arthur seemed to consider this.

Simon watched him as he did so.

“Okay,” the steward finally said, “We might have to work on that answer.”

“Might we, indeed?”

Arthur bent down conspiratorially, then decided it would be better to kneel on and lean over the seat directly in front of Simon, to communicate his secret insights from there. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, Simon, but actually, the Royal Uncle is expected to see the baby a lot. Probably about once a week. No, no, once every…two weeks. What with you being a Proper Blood Relative, and all. So you’ll be wanting to charter OJS for a trip to Vaduz every second weekend.”

Simon nodded, slowly. “I see.”

“I’m not making this up. It’s all very official royal stuff.”

“Quite.”

“And of course all flights will be fully…stewarded, by a steward.”

“Oh, of course.”

“It’ll probably be me.”

“I didn’t doubt it.”

“Not that I’ll be coming, you know, to, to see the baby.”

“No.”

“I’m not even a Proper Blood Relative.”

Simon paused. “…but you are the Royal God-Brother. As you have said. I would have thought your official responsibilities demanded regular access.”

Arthur slumped slightly onto the seat, and rested his head on his folded arms. “That’s what I told mum. But she said that because I’m not a Proper Blood Relative, like you and Wendy and Caitlin are, I can’t expect to be able to visit whenever I want to and the only way I’ll be able to see baby Skip on any old day is if we happen to be stopping off in Liechtenstein for some reason.”

“I see.” Simon took a long sip of his coffee. “Like, for instance, if you persuaded one of Martin’s siblings to take unreasonably regular trips there.”

Arthur had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “It wasn’t all made up. I _do_ need to check everyone’s clear on their – their royal commission.”

Simon chuckled. Martin’s friend was even more of a chump than Martin himself, but you couldn’t fault him on his dedication and loyalty. “Well, thank you for your suggestions. Rest assured, Arthur, I will never travel to Liechtenstein with anyone other than your good selves. But, er – you understand that my work is quite, it’s quite important. I can’t always afford to go border-hopping every fortnight. Council administrators have things to… things to administrate.”

Arthur nodded sagely. “I don’t know what that means, but it does sound important.”

Simon returned momentarily to his coffee. He frowned slightly. He couldn’t help the tinge of guilt crawling through his mind, at the fact that Martin’s ex-colleague was clearly far, far more invested in his relationship with Simon’s niece than Simon himself really felt.

Arthur glanced away for a second, and suddenly noticed the second cup of coffee, lying lazily on its side. He'd accidentally knocked the trolley when he moved to speak to Simon. “Oh!”

He scrambled to his feet and scuffled slightly further down to aisle to where Caitlin was sitting, nose in a book. “Er, sorry, madam – Caitlin, I mean – but a technical issue has caused your coffee to disappear – I’ll go and get another one…”

He disappeared behind the curtain to the galley. Caitlin set her book down and turned back to look at her brother. “What sort of technical issue makes coffee disappear after you've made it?" 

Simon leaned back in his chair. “A right royal one.” 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, in the flight deck, a new word game had just been undertaken.

“Reading.”

“Pickering.”

“Ealing.” Douglas glanced at his watch. “Not long to go now.”

It was said in a monotone. Herc frowned at him, but nodded. “Twenty minutes, providing we don't have to hold. Does Chipping Norton count?”

Douglas considered the suggestion. “Well, since it’s a special occasion, I’ll give you half a point.”

“You are, truly, a paragon of generosity,” Herc said, smirking. After a pause, he adds, for the sake of conversation, “I once met the mayor of Chipping Norton. Odd chap.”

Douglas considered feigning interest, and decided against it. “I am fascinated,” he deadpanned.

There was a short silence. “Are you quite all right, Douglas?” Herc asked, as breezily as he could.

“Fine, thanks.”

“It’s just that you seem decidedly _dour_ today. Compared to yesterday, I mean. Has something happened?”

Douglas rolled his eyes at being pushed, but Herc waited. He wasn’t about to back down.

“Touching as this is, Hercules, I can assure you nothing has happened.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried I was going to have to call Arthur to the flight deck to sing at you or something.”

That raised the slightest of smiles, and Herc counted it as a minor victory. Moments later, the flight-deck door opened to reveal Carolyn, looking like a cat trying very nonchalantly not to let on that she’d got at the cream. “Hello, drivers. How long have we got to go?”

“Twenty minutes or thereabouts,” Herc said smoothly. “Excited, are we?”

“Not particularly,” Carolyn said, in what was not a very successful attempt to deny the fact.

Herc smiled. “Worthing, Douglas.”

“What’s this?” Carolyn said quickly, keen for both the topic change and the chance to one-up one or both her pilots in a game.

“Gerundial place names,” The man-she-knew explained. “So far we’ve got Reading, Pickering, Ealing, and Chipping, as in Norton.”

“Ah.” Carolyn thought for a moment. “Epping?”

“Good one.”

Turning to look at her, Herc saw her gaze flicker to the uncharacteristically banterless Douglas, and then back to him again, questioningly. He gave a tiny shrug and mouthed the words, “No idea.”

Carolyn, though, had an inkling. She vowed to have a word or two with her longest-serving pilot when the opportunity presented itself. While she loved Herc undeniably and rather enjoyed employing him, at the same time she recognised that he could be less than useful when trying to have a serious conversation with Douglas. Their relationship had become much less…strained…since they’d been working together full-time, but the constant competitiveness still provided a fair amount of prickle.

“I’ll be back when I think of another,” she promised. “I’m just going to make sure Arthur’s not poisoned any Crieffs.”

“Always a concern,” Herc conceded, grinning. The expression faded as he again glanced at Douglas, staring out at nothing in particular, only moving every now and then to adjust his grip on the steering column.

Herc sighed inwardly. If only his colleague wouldn’t insist on being such an enigma.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update. I blame Endeavour. And by 'blame', I mean 'recommend you watch'.


	6. Fitton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names, mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another filler chapter, apologies. Eventually, you'll come to realise that fillers are all I write, but for now, feel free to imagine that plot is coming, if you wish.

Carolyn, happily, discovered that not a single Crieff had been poisoned so far. In fact, two of them were contentedly sipping coffee and one had her hands full of Arthur’s custom-made picturebooks. The CEO exchanged a smile with her passenger. “Don’t feel you have to read every page, Wendy. You’ll find most of the storylines to be very similar.”

Wendy chuckled. “They’re charming.” She showed Carolyn the page she was currently on, which depicted Brilliant Baby and Super Steward traversing a desert on the back of a camel – a camel camel, no less. “He’s worked so hard on them, isn’t he a dear. Martin will love them.”

“I will admit, Arthur’s seldom paid so much attention to a project before,” Carolyn agreed. “What’s that, volume three, now?”

“Four, I think,” Wendy said, checking the cover. Sure enough, the numeral was picked out in bright red, and Brilliant Baby and Super Steward could be seen sliding down the sloped edge. Fine art it was not, but Arthur did possess the gift of being able to draw things that could at least be recognised for what they were, which meant that the illustrations spoke for themselves in the places where the narrative…lost itself. Which it did, quite often.

“Where is Arthur, anyway?”

Wendy craned her neck around the seat, and then pointed to the back of the plane. Carolyn spotted him then – a tuft of brown hair peeking over the chair in front, meaning his head was bowed, which probably meant, in turn, that the budding author/illustrator was working on his fifth tome.

Carolyn made her way breezily down the aisle, exchanging brief conversation with Martin’s siblings as she passed them. “Arthur,” she said when she reached him, briskly but not harshly, “Don’t you have things to be doing?”

Her son’s head snapped up and his eyes widened. “I don’t think so! Why? What have I forgotten?”

Carolyn, in the spirit of the occasion, took pity on him, and grinned. “Nothing, nothing. Just checking. What’s this? More comics?”

Arthur sniffed. “They’re not comics, Mum. They are works of literature.”

Carolyn looked down at the current page in progress. The current adventure being undertaken seemed to involve a giant Toblerone, but the backdrop was unmistakably Fitton airfield. “Oh, my mistake.”

“At least, that’s what Herc called them.”

“Did he now.”

* * *

Douglas had valiantly shaken off most of his dark mood by the time the flight was nearing its end, much to Herc’s relief. He supposed that whatever was troubling his co-pilot had paled in the face of their impending visit, and was happy not to push the issue. Instead, they’d been whiling away some of the time placing informal bets on Martin and Theresa’s choice of name.

“Hopefully they’ll go for something traditional,” Herc mused. “I know Martin loves his planes, but if I have to snatch the pen out of his hand before he names his daughter after an aircraft, I’ll do it.”

Sniggering, Douglas nodded. “Goodness, yes. Imagine.”

“Sadly I don’t have to,” Herc grumbled. “It was ‘cool’ for about five minutes when I was seven, but after that it lost its shine.”

“Still, it pushed you in the right direction, career-wise,” Douglas said. “Where would the sky be without Rainbow 2.0?”

“I wish you would stop calling me that.”

“And yet I am yet to do so.” Douglas smirked, then returned to the issue at hand. “I should think there’ll be some law about not naming princesses after Boeing 727s, and if there isn’t, Theresa will put down the royal foot. But knowing Martin he’ll manage to slip something in. The name of a famous pilot, maybe.”

Herc considered. “Oh yes. Princess Amelia Earhart of Liechtenstein.”

“That sounds eerily plausible, actually.”

“Doesn’t it just.”

* * *

A hundred or so miles away (on a downward diagonal), a conversation on a similar theme was being held in Theresa’s private hospital room.

“Are there any names left that aren’t already taken up by one of your sisters?” Martin said, mock-despairingly. His abundance of sisters-in-law – five in all – had taken an evening’s study to get his head around when it came to their collection of names.

Theresa giggled, before shushing him gently, nodding towards their sleeping daughter. “We’re only taking up….eighteen names between us.”

Martin grinned, “Hardly any at all, then. Anyway, what I was going to say, was…I’d quite like to name her a little bit after Theo. She was…very helpful the other night when I was being…a little dramatic.”

Theresa tutted in mock disbelief. “You, my love?”

“I-I know it’s hard to believe.”

She kissed him on the cheek, “Yes, impossible. It can’t be true.”

He coughed. “Nevertheless. Do… do you think she’d mind?”

“I’m almost certain she’s expecting nothing less. She’d probably only mind if we _didn’t_ pay her some kind of tribute. Which of her names? Louisa? Mariangela?”

Martin tried both of these out with the other two names they’d selected. “What’s wrong with ‘Theodora’?”

Theresa shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. She’d love it. Except she’ll be _unbearable_ to live with if we carry on spoiling her like this.”

Martin grinned. “She doesn’t live with _us_ , it’ll be Maxi’s problem.” 

“Ah!” Theresa’s eyes lit up mischievously at the idea of irritating her monarchical little brother. “Then Theodora it must be.”

Martin’s phone began to buzz, but he didn’t immediately accept the call, as was usually his custom. The Princess frowned at him. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

He looked at the caller ID. “It’s Caitlin, they must have landed.”

Theresa gave him a pointed look. “Yes….so….answer it.”

He looked at her with what she had taken to thinking of as his Anxious Baby Bird expression. “I don’t know if I’m ready for them to see her.”

She rolled her eyes. “Martin, my family’s been in and out all day. It’s about time yours got a look-in, stop being a goose.”

He hesitated some more, chiding himself. So much of his tendency to fluster had faded away since starting his new life (getting his “proper” job, being married and attending royal functions on a regular basis), but he still couldn’t shake the apprehension that had always surfaced when it came to Simon judging something he’d produced. But this was different, he forced himself to think, this was his _daughter,_ and she was as near to perfect as it was possible to come. He answered the call.

Theresa listened to him directing his family from the airfield to the hospital, letting his voice become background noise as she stroked a finger over the soft skin of her baby’s hand. She teased her index finger through the loop of the tiny person’s curled thumb, and smiled as the baby’s grip tightened around it. _That’s just a reflex_ , her scientific brain reminded her, but she ignored it, and accepted her prerogative as a new mother: to believe it was love.


	7. Gertrude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolyn has a heart-to-heart with a certain someone...and another certain someone is finally met!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gone are the days of the location-referencing chapter titles. It was getting too annoying to try and fit them in, but I'll stay alphabetical at least.

Arthur gambolled ahead with the horsepower of a hundred excited lambs, reaching the hospital’s entrance while the others were still halfway across the carpark. “Go and stop him terrorising any hospital staff, will you, Herc?”

Herc looked at his wife (he was allowed to call her that now, he had a contract, even if she wasn’t particularly keen on him doing so out loud) in surprise. “Isn’t that rather your…” he began, but was met with a look that suggested he might not want to continue that line of inquiry. She nodded toward their somewhat listless captain, who had reverted back into his quiet state during the taxi journey, and Herc understood. “Right-o,” he said, and quickened his pace to catch up with his stewardly stepson.

Carolyn crossed to be next to Douglas, and quickly once-overed what she was going to say. Once she was satisfied, she began.

“Phone her, Douglas.”

He looked across at her, and she could tell he wanted to sneer and say she’d misinterpreted his mood, but couldn’t.

“All right, after we’ve seen the baby, then. But I think you need to talk to Verity, don’t you.”

Silence still, but not quite so stony. Carolyn warmed to her theme. “I won’t lie to you, Douglas, ours is not the ideal business to raise children in. Heaven knows I made mistakes with Arthur…some of them fairly _drastic_ mistakes, but in the years I’ve had to think about it I’ve realised that not all of them would necessarily have been avoided if I’d had a normal nine-to-five job, or indeed if I’d given up work altogether. Some of them were just…life. Well, life and Arthur being _Arthur_.”

That raised a smile. “I appreciate what you’re trying to say,” Douglas said at length. “And I’m grateful for your efforts to cheer me. But I’ll be fine. Scout’s honour.”

Carolyn laughed dryly, “Don’t try that with me, you never so much as sung the scout anthem.”

“True enough.” He sighed, giving in. “It would be easier if Martin was still…with us. When he was buzzing around my ears all day long, and I was just his annoyingly insubordinate subordinate, I could drip-feed him wisdom every now and then and think nothing of it, but now he’s taken to treating me like some kind of Agony Aunt who has all the answers, and I’m becoming increasingly aware of how hideously incompetent I am as a parenting adviser, after everything with Verity and her mother. It’s…unsettling.”

“Feet of clay, Douglas, I’m afraid we’ve all got them in some way or another.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m only too aware,” Douglas agreed, “It’s just I’m not used to _Martin_ seeing them and I’d rather he thought they were iron through and through.”

Carolyn sighed, and, after a moment’s thought, gave him a pat on the arm. “Give Verity a ring later on. Talking to her’ll remind you soon enough that you haven’t done such a bad job after all.”

Douglas acquiesced, “All right. You’re the boss.”

“And don’t you forget it, Captain Richardson.”

* * *

The young receptionist who greeted Arthur at the desk seemed at first slightly dubious about their claims to know the Liechtensteinian royals. She’d been briefed to within an inch of her life by her manager when Princess Theresa had first been admitted – there were all sorts of rules and regulations that were slightly less rigidly followed with ordinary patients. Nothing had been mentioned about the excitable man in an airline uniform who claimed to be the newborn’s Royal God-Brother.

“It’s all very official,” Arthur told her earnestly, “I’ve got a contract written on the back of one Theresa’s napkins. I could show it to you, but I think it’s on the plane. That’s my mum’s plane. She’s the Royal God-Mother, actually.”

“Arthur, old chap,” Herc said upon his arrival, “Code Red, as your mother might say.”

Arthur paused mid-flow, and nodded, scooting to stand behind his capable step-father instead.

“He’s…very excited, I apologise,” Herc said smoothly, “but we really are here with good reason, to see the baby. My name’s Herc Shipwright, and my wife Carolyn is Mr Crieff’s former employer.”

“I see,” said the receptionist, her doubts clearing only fractionally. Luckily, they were almost immediately joined by Simon, Caitlin and Wendy, and Wendy proudly presented her battered driving license which showed she was, in fact, a real and actual Crieff. The picture of a tiny Martin dressed as an aeroplane, also found in her purse, served as more of an amusement to Arthur than actual proof. Caitlin, seeing an easy way to speed up the process, had texted Martin as soon as she got through the doors, so just as her mother was returning her purse to her handbag, the proud new father appeared around the corner to confirm their identities and show them to Theresa’s room.

The nurse who met them outside the door said something brusquely in German which Martin translated – quite accurately – to mean that only two visitors were allowed in at a time.

“I’m impressed, Martin,” Douglas interjected. “How’s your French coming along?”

Martin grinned. “Actually, my French is even better than my German now, I use it more at work. Remind me later to tell you about my captain’s name, you’ll enjoy it. Right then, er – Mum, you come first.”

Wendy looked delighted, but quickly covered it over with insistence that ‘dear Arthur should go, he looked after us so well on the flight,’ or, ‘Caitlin, darling, you can go first, he’s your little brother’ and ‘shouldn’t Douglas go, he worked so hard flying us all,’ but she was silenced, finally, by Carolyn: “I’m afraid, Wendy, that your duties as grandmother trump all of that. It’s a cross you’ll have to bear.”

Wendy, ever keen to bear burdens to ease the load of others, was satisfied with the slightly skewed logic, and followed her son through the door.

Arthur was positively bouncing. “Can you believe it, Mum?”

Carolyn couldn’t help but smile. “No, indeed. It’s quite beyond all human thought.”

“It’s brilliant!”

“That, too.”

* * *

“Oh, Martin.”

Theresa giggled very quietly into one of her hands. Martin’s mother seemed to have been struck completely dumb except for those two words, which she’d now said a fair few times, in increasingly soft and gooey tones.

“She’s _beautiful_ ,” Wendy eventually managed. “Isn’t she beautiful?” She showed the baby to Martin, as if he hadn’t had the chance to look.

“We think so, yes.”

“Could you take a picture on my telephone, dear?” Wendy asked, nodding toward her handbag, which was lying discarded on the floor.

“I don’t think your phone’s got a camera, has it?” Martin said, puzzled, remembering the brick-like device his mother had started using to appease Caitlin after her angina scare.

“Oh, the old one didn’t, but Simon got me one of these newfangled ones,” Wendy explained. “He’s such a good boy, I told him not to spend the money but he insisted. Not that I know how to use any of it, but Sandra’s been showing me pictures of her daughter’s twins for weeks so it’ll be nice to be able to show her something in return.”

Martin located the fancy smartphone and was presented with a lock screen. “What’s the code?”

Wendy looked bashful. “One-nine-eight-eight. Don’t tell Simon or Caitlin.”

Martin grinned as he typed the year he was born into the phone. Accessing the camera, he snapped a few pictures of his mother and daughter, and then a couple of close-ups of just the baby. Already, her skin was becoming less blotchy and more rosy, and he sneakily emailed the best picture to himself as it was nicer than the ones he’d taken so far. He heard his mother asking Theresa how she was and how the birth had been, and he felt the blissful grin creep across his face for what had to be the one thousandth time. He’d never get bored of this.

* * *

After Wendy had had a reasonable amount of cuddle time, Martin lead her back into the corridor to swap places with Simon and Caitlin. To appease the surly two-at-a-time nurse, he didn’t go back in. Instead, he got his second bear hug of the day from Arthur, whose excitement had reached maximum concentration but was showing no signs of dissipating.

Carolyn suggested that he might like to try out the nearby vending machine and Arthur, ever the steward, took orders from everyone and sped off down the corridor toward it.

“We got a name sorted today, finally,” Martin told them once Arthur had returned, Cokes and Mars Bars in hand. “Thanks, Arthur.”

“‘Thanks, Arthur’?” Douglas repeated, mock-incredulously. “I urge you to reconsider, she’ll be teased mercilessly at school.”

Martin grinned. “Funny. She’s called Aida Gertrude Theodora Gustava Bonaventura.” He waited a beat. “Crieff.”

Herc nodded appreciatively, “That’s lovely.”

Douglas chuckled, “Yes, I rather like it. Are you going to leave a gap that big on the birth certificate too?”

Martin looked sheepish. “I’m not sure ‘Crieff’ is even going on the birth certificate, we haven’t discussed it. I just wanted to hear what it sounded like. I don’t suppose she’ll want it when she’s older – she’s got enough names – but, you know. I never really thought I’d have children at all, but if I did I sort of just assumed they would be little Crieffs.”  

Carolyn gave him a nudge. “Don’t worry, Martin. To all of us, at least, she’ll always be more of an Aida Crieff than anything else.”

The others all mumbled in agreement, and Martin went very quiet for a moment. “ _You_ lot,” he complained after a bit. “Stop it.”

Douglas smiled. “No excuses, Martin,” he said, “None of us would ever light a cigarette in a hospital, so that’s definitely not smoke in your eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to WinterRose16 for challenging me to update before Baby Cumberbatch was born - see, give me a nice, manageable target like that and you get it the very next day!


	8. Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, me again. Still clinging to this plotless thread! Hope this chapter's not _too_ boring. I swear there is an eventual point to this story, but the meetings-up keep taking longer than I expect...

Simon, Caitlin and Wendy, not subject to Carolyn's scrimping habits, had booked rooms into a rather nice hotel not too far away from the hospital. Once all the visiting Crieffs had met the little princess, and promised to meet up with everybody again for lunch, they sped off in Simon's hire-car, Wendy insisting all the way that no-one help her with her unpacking.

Having waved them off and given the perfunctory thank-you-for-comings one had to do with family, Martin grinned round at the crew of OJS Air. "Who's next? Carolyn?" 

His former employer attempted to hide her pleasure at being chosen in a nonchalant expression, and failed splendidly. She turned to Herc to accompany her, but her new husband bowed his head slightly and said, "I think Arthur might burst if he's kept waiting a moment longer."

It was a fair comment - the Royal God-Brother was practically bouncing on the spot.

Martin chuckled. "In you go, then!" A serious look came over his face for a moment. "Arthur, remember she is very very delicate..."

Arthur looked at him, aghast. "I'm not going to _drop_ her, Martin! I've seen babies before."

"In pictures," Carolyn punctuated.

"No! I held Kieran when he was born!"

Carolyn frowned at the memory. "Did you? Well, if you'd dropped him at the time you might have accidentally knocked an ounce sense into him, and that certainly didn't happen, so perhaps you're safe."

Martin boggled. "Carolyn..."

She took pity on him. "Martin, we are jesting. We have become quite adept in the jesting department since your departure. Arthur has hardly let the subject of his God-Brotherhood rest since Theresa gave him the title, and you can be sure he won't do a single thing to endanger it." 

Martin visibly relaxed. "Just keep an eye on him. I know how he gets."

"I am the world's leading expert on How Arthur Gets, First Officer Crieff."

Theresa greeted Arthur and Carolyn, looking weary but no less strikingly beautiful than always. Martin had often recounted the story of their first meeting, and how he hadn't initially assumed she was the princess they were being sent to meet, but Carolyn had always privately thought that Theresa's features _were_ rather regal-looking. Not in an unbearably snooty way, just in a way that commanded respect. Though shocked into timidity during the first conversation they'd shared, Carolyn now saw in Martin's wife something of a kindred spirit. 

"You're looking very well," she told Theresa, matter-of-factly. "I forbade any photographs of myself holding Arthur after he was born from being so much as developed. I looked like a ghost."

Theresa smiled. "I was lucky, things went very smoothly."

"She must take after you," Carolyn said, peering fondly at the little bundle in the bedside cot. "Very few things go smoothly for Martin first time round."

The Princess giggled. "How true." She looked with interest at Arthur, who seemed to have suffered a hardware crash. "And how is the Royal God-Brother?"

A wide-eyed Arthur shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry! I was just looking at her. She looks exactly like Martin, doesn't she, Mum?"

Carolyn raised an eyebrow, and turned her head to look at the baby from a slightly different angle. She had always scorned people who claimed to see a likeness to either parent at this early stage, since most babies looked, one might as well face the fact, like babies. Sure enough, this one was no different. "Do you think so?"

"Yeah!" Arthur exclaimed. "She's brilliant, Your Highness!" Sometimes he forgot that Theresa had insisted on first-name terms with all of them.

" _Theresa_ ," she reminded him. "Would you like to hold her?"

Arthur's face lit up, even more than it had already been lit, bringing his countenance from "number 47's ridiculous outdoor Christmas tree" all the way to "standing very much too close to the actual sun". He shrugged his 'Visit South Africa' rucksack off his shoulders and set it down on the floor. "I brought some books," he said by way of explanation. "I've put all the 'she's and 'her's in now." 

Theresa looked baffled at the statement, but Arthur neglected to elaborate, concentrating instead on lifting the infant princess from her cot. Carolyn swooped in to assist, but to her surprise, her son managed the manoeuvre expertly, transferring Aida into his arms as if he'd done so a thousand times before, yet not without the proper amount of carefulness. Carolyn distracted herself from gaping too widely at this by filling Theresa in on Arthur's literary endeavours. "When he says he's brought books," she said, "he means he's written and illustrated some. For Aida. They've taken him months, so until a few days ago he was leaving gaps for the words that would refer to a boy or a girl." She noticed the ring of pride that was evident in her voice, but didn't feel she had to disguise it. It was a very pleasant feeling, to be proud of Arthur's achievements like this. Of course, she was proud of his eager-to-please nature, and the way he was as a person, though she never really had a reason to say so out loud. But Arthur, bless his Spiderman-emblazoned socks, did not offer her very many _achievements_ to take pride in, unless one counted that needlessly large collection of crazy golf trophies, which Carolyn did not.

Theresa looked touched. "How lovely. May I see them, Arthur?"

Arthur was otherwise engaged. The baby had curled a tiny fist around her God-Brother's little finger and he was smiling down at her sappily, jiggling her very slightly up and down. At the sound of his name being spoken, he did momentarily look up, and said, "Yeah, fine," rather vaguely before returning his attentions to Aida. She was staring up at him with her wide blue eyes, and on a cerebral level Carolyn knew full well that she hadn't really got the hang of focusing yet, but it honestly did look as though the two of them were having a deep conversation using eye contact alone.

Carolyn bent to retrieve Arthur's bag, and unzipped it. She fished inside until she located the first volume of Brilliant Baby tales, and handed it to Theresa. She'd kept up an act of underwhelmedness in front of Arthur, for reasons she wasn't even very sure of now, but the childish charm of his illustrations was growing on her. They were, for want of a better word....cute. Oh, goodness. She had been in this maternity ward too long. She was going sappy.

Theresa began thumbing through the pages of the book, smiling as familiar tales from Martin's escapades with MJN unfolded. She was sure her daughter would love the stories when she was old enough to understand what was being read, but for now they would serve as a nice memento for Martin. He had the good sense not to complain about his lot in life (hardly ever) nowadays, but she knew there were times when her funny little man missed the more colourful days of the charter life. She seemed to remember he'd had plenty of complaints to make about it at the time, and certainly the tiny hotel rooms, questionable catering choices and tyrannical customers didn't sound like much fun, but there was an atmosphere in any room that contained the five crew members of My/Our Jet Now/Still that could only be described one way: _family._  

Princess Aida Gertrude Theodora Gustava Bonaventura would have a lot of people looking out of her, that was for sure.

"And one day you're going to come up in GERTI with us," Arthur was saying softly to the newborn. "Us would be me and Mum - er, Aunty Carolyn. I think you'll be allowed to call her that. And Uncle Douglas and Uncle Herc. And probably your Mum and Dad, if Mar- if your Dad isn't at work. He flies aeroplanes too...bigger ones. But they'll all look big to you! Because you're really _really_ small. Mum says I was nine eight and a half and I don't know what that means but she says it means I've always been a bit of a Lump...you're not a Lump. You're...a bit like a doll really, but without the terrifying eyes."

Carolyn chuckled. "Would you mind awfully if I had a turn now, Arthur? Only I'm sure she's going to want feeding soon and there's still _Uncles_ Douglas and Herc to come gawping." 

Arthur grinned. "Okay! Here she is. Be careful, Mum, she's _really_ little."

Carolyn took the baby from him gently. "I have noticed." Once Aida was settled in her arms, she allowed herself to simper quite sickeningly in the baby's direction. "Aren't you a beauty?"

And oddly enough, from this angle, she almost _could_ see a fleeting resemblance to Martin. Not the confident-ish, responsible Martin who's waiting in the corridor outside, but a much younger model, the one who had first come for that fated interview all those years ago. She'd stared him down, then, eyes narrowed, wondering just how far she could push this clearly desperate puppy-dog of a man. As it turned out, he'd been the one to push her - toward feeling all _gooey_ over his baby daughter. Gooey, and, yes...it was the only word for it: _Motherly._

Good heavens _._


	9. Illusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha... honestly, I was thinking this was quite a swift update... but it would appear that it's been eleven months and one day. 
> 
> Ho-hum... 
> 
> I don't know how this happened. But nevertheless, more!

 

“So, Herc,” Douglas said airily, “Not Princess Amelia Earhart after all.”

“No, indeed, we missed the mark,” Herc agreed. “We should probably have put money on ‘Gertrude’, though, in retrospect.”

“That’s not…it’s Theresa’s _mother’s_ name,” Martin said, in what wasn’t quite protest, but Douglas couldn’t help noting a small hint of smugness in his expression. He had a distinct suspicion about why it was there.

Arthur and Carolyn eventually emerged from the room, Arthur’s face shining with delight and awe. “Oh, you’ve got to see her, Douglas! She’s the best baby I’ve ever seen!” He puffed out his chest, importantly. “And let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of them. Mum got me three books about child-herding from the library after I got asked to be God-Brother.”

“Child _herding_?” Martin echoed, incredulously.

“Is it possible you’re referring to child- _rearing,_ Arthur?” Herc supplied.

Arthur considered. “Oh, maybe. I knew it was something you do with sheep, anyway.”

“…Fair enough.”

Carolyn gave Herc a small push toward the door. “All right, you two, that’s quite enough vocabulary expansion for one day. They’re waiting for you.”

 

* * *

 

Theresa smiled as Herc and Douglas entered. “Ah, the uncles have arrived!”

Douglas raised his eyebrows. “Hello, Theresa. We’re to be _uncles_ now, are we?”

She giggled. “So Arthur seems to think. It sounds better than her actually _calling_ you ‘Godfather’, doesn’t it, anyway.”

Douglas smiled.

Though he might never admit it, he was still not used to the idea. This was one triumph he would never wave even in Herc’s face – which was his favourite face in which to wave triumphs – mainly because he was so touched by it. It would cheapen it somehow, to turn it into a competition he’d won. Herc might be married to Aida’s godmother, but he wasn’t her _godfather_.

Douglas’s mind flitted briefly back to Martin’s face, that day, flushed, _nervous,_ could he _really_ have been nervous that Douglas would say no?

 _“I thought we might choose one each, but they don’t really go in for it in Liechtenstein, um, not in the same way,”_ Martin had spluttered, “ _So Theresa said I ought to choose both. Carolyn seems to be pleased with the idea, but I wondered if—of course, there’d be no obligation—”_

It was funny. How many years had they flown next to each other in the same tiny flight deck? And yet, out of it, neither of them had been certain where exactly they stood as friends once they were no longer _colleagues_.

At least it was abundantly clear now, Douglas thought, contentedly. He accepted the tiny bundle Theresa held out to him, and smiled down at her. She smelled so clean and new, exactly as Verity had done all those years ago. Carolyn’s order to phone his daughter resurfaced in his mind. _Soon_ , he promised silently.

Herc was talking softly with Theresa, congratulating her and asking how she was feeling. When they came to a pause, Douglas allowed Herc to take the newborn from him, marvelling at how Herc’s countenance could change so rapidly from his usual wry, twinkle-eyed smirk to such an utter puddle of adoration once Aida was in his arms.

He wondered if Herc had heard the same note of secrecy in Martin’s feeble defence of ‘Gertrude’ in the corridor.

“You know, Theresa, Herc and I had a couple of hunches about Martin’s choice of names,” Douglas remarked. “And I’m sure he’s very happy about managing to sneak ‘Gertrude’ past everybody,” He cleared his throat. “But I happen to know that a certain Aida _de Acosta_ …”

“…was the first woman to fly an aeroplane solo,” Theresa finished, and dissolved into giggles. "I know. Isn’t it funny? Martin thinks it’s his little secret. He’s ever so proud of himself.”

Herc chuckled. “Goodness, yes. Good one, Douglas, I hadn’t thought. She even beat the Wright brothers to it, didn’t she?”

“She did, just about. A worthy namesake.” Douglas said, smiling at the baby princess.

“Should we tell him we know?” Theresa asked, conspiratorially.

“Oh, no, let’s let him feel clever for a bit,” Douglas said. “As illusions go, that’s one of his favourites.”

 

* * *

 

 

A short while later, Martin poked his head around the door. “Hello. Um, Theresa, the palace official is here. What am I supposed to do with him, again?”

Theresa smiled. “Get one of the nurses to find Doctor Vetsch for you. They need to sign some documents together. Then bring him back here.”

“Okay!”

Martin’s head disappeared.

Douglas shook his head. “Part of me still finds it baffling that Martin, of all people, is allowed to go around talking to _palace officials_ , and so on.”

“Well, he’s getting much better at it,” Theresa said, mischievously. “The first few functions and dinners when he was consort _were_ a little bit...difficult for him. And for those around him.”

“Ah! What was the one about the EM-10s…?”

“Oh, yes, he spent the entire evening talking about the poor design of them, and extended it to Polish aircraft in general…”

“And managed to accidentally imply it about everything made in Poland,” Douglas continued, “Only to find out he was talking to—”

“The Polish prime minister,” Theresa finished. “Her _face_!”

“I dread to imagine,” Herc said.

“She was fine about it, at first, but then he started to _apologise_ ,” Theresa said, “And he just went on and on—”

“Poor Martin,” said Herc, through a grin.

“The poor Duchess of Troppau!” said Theresa. “It was _her_ meal that ended up all over the table during his demonstration of the EM-10’s aerodynamic…somethings. And that tablecloth was an antique!”

“It’s a wonder you take him anywhere,” Douglas commented.

“Oh, you’d be surprised the number of events that accidentally get scheduled during his international flights,” Theresa said sweetly.

“Ah! Clever,” Douglas said, approvingly.

“Though there’s all sorts of functions coming up that he won’t be able to miss,” Theresa said, sighing. “There’s the official Presentation, and Aida’s christening, and Maxi is sure to put on some kind of banquet for her. He’s very keen on holding banquets at the moment. Our mother says it’s just a teenage phase.”

“Well, it’s better than the beheadings he was so keen on when we first met,” Douglas said reasonably.

She laughed. “Very true.”

When Martin next appeared, it was to announce that the palace official was ready to come in, so Herc and Douglas filed past, back into the corridor. The official looked, true to his title, exceedingly official, and Douglas caught Arthur gazing in pure wonder at the gold braiding all over the man’s waistcoat and jacket.

“It’s like Martin’s old hat!” he said in a stage whisper. “But all over!”

Carolyn nudged him. “Don’t stare.”

Martin lead the palace official inside. Once the door was closed, Arthur asked eagerly, “Do you think he’d let me try it on?”

“I forbid you from finding out,” Carolyn said firmly.

“Owh!”

“Arthur, do you mean to say that you’ve not yet acquired a Royal Godbrother uniform with at least as much decoration?” Douglas asked mildly. 

Carolyn frowned. “Don’t encourage him.”

Arthur only looked at her, hopefully. "Mum...?" 

“All right,” she conceded. “We’ll stop at the fancy dress shop in Fitton on the way home.”

“Hooray!”


	10. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More, so soon? I know, I'm unaccustomed to it, too. Enjoy...

The next morning, there was just enough time for another round of visits before they were due to fly Simon, Caitlin and Wendy home again.  
  
“Are you _sure_ I can’t stay, Mum?” Arthur asked for a time that numbered somewhere in the three hundreds – Douglas had lost count.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure. Martin and Theresa are going to be very busy, moving the baby home, and they won’t want you under their feet.”  
  
“I wouldn’t get under their feet! I could help!”  
  
Carolyn sighed. “Look, I know you want to spend as much time with them as you can. None of us _want_ to be going home. But we’ve got jobs booked for the next week or so, and there’s Snoopadoop to walk…you can’t decide to move to Liechtenstein just like that.”  
  
“Besides,” added Douglas, kindly, “We’ll be back soon. The christening is in three weeks, and we’ve all been invited.”  
  
Arthur’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”  
  
Carolyn gave Douglas a mock-irritated stare. “Captain Richardson, there is a _reason_ I tell him these sorts of things last-minute. Now we’ll all be subjected to three weeks of him bounding about the place like a mad thing—”  
  
“And how, exactly, would that differ from our normal life?” Douglas asked dryly.  
  
“Well, it wouldn’t, but at least now I can blame _you_.”  
  
 

* * *

  
   
  
“You _are_ coming back, for the christening I mean, aren’t you?” Martin asked them, as he led them all out of the hospital close to midday.  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Herc.  
  
“And Arthur wouldn’t let us, in any case,” Carolyn added.  
  
“Oh, good.” He sounded enormously relieved.   
  
Douglas frowned at him. “Why are you so concerned? Christenings are a rather dull affair, in my experience – does Liechtenstein add some more exciting elements?" He grinned. "Is the holy water crocodile-infested? Do you have to challenge the priest to a duel before entry?”  
  
Martin laughed, but it was a breathless, nervous kind of laugh. “No, no—nothing like that, it’s just—it’s nothing, really.”  
  
He looked around at the four sceptical faces. “Oh, all right. It’s…the Baron of Schellenberg.”  
  
Arthur blinked. “The who of what?”  
  
“The Baron of Schellenberg. He’s going to be there...well, so are a lot of barons and baronesses and people like that, which is bad enough, but Baron Schellenberg is the worst one of all.”  
  
“What’s so terrible about him?” Herc asked, interested.  
  
“Well, he’s tall, _very_ tall,” Martin began, “And unreasonably dashing. He has a moustache…” At this point, he glanced behind the little group to where Simon was waiting, his sister and mother on either side. “Even bushier than Simon’s.”  
  
“ _Chilling_ ,” Douglas said with a smirk. “But modern research strongly suggests that it is _possible_ to be a decent person while still growing hair on one’s lip. Is this a case of jealousy, Martin?”  
  
“I wasn’t finished,” Martin snapped. “He’s…all that. And he used to be engaged to Theresa.”  
  
This, at least, stopped Douglas short for a few seconds.  
  
Not Carolyn, however. “Well, he isn’t anymore,” she pointed out, matter-of-factly. “Nobody is. You got her to marry you. For heaven’s sake, Martin, she’s in _there_ —” she thrust out her hand toward the hospital building, “With your _baby_. You can’t honestly think you have anything to worry about.”  
  
Martin’s eyes opened wide. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean – I would never suggest – Theresa doesn’t even like him, anyway, and she’s – she wouldn’t. But her family really, really wanted her to marry Baron Schellenberg. He’s – well, obviously, he’s a Baron,” Martin cleared his throat, and continued, “But he’s also fantastically rich, and he comes from an old, old family. Actually, his older brother would be the king instead of Maxi if it wasn’t for a feud that happened, oh...ages and ages ago. So there’s been a sort of...polite rivalry ever since. And if Theresa had married him – well, there wouldn’t be, anymore.”  
  
 "Ah," Douglas nodded, discerning something important in amongst Martin's gabbling. "Martin, how long ago, exactly, did Theresa break off this engagement?" 

"Sixteen years ago," Martin said. "She was nineteen. It was—"

"...around the time Maximillian was born," Douglas finished. "I see."

"Yes," Carolyn said thoughtfully. Herc nodded too. 

"What do we see?" Arthur piped up. "I don't see _anything_." 

"Well, Arthur," Douglas began, "It all comes down to primogeniture. You've read up on the subject, I'm sure." 

"Never," said Arthur, happily. "I didn't even know you could. Because," he clarified, "I'd never heard of it." 

"Well then, attend," Douglas said, in what Arthur had come to think of as his Teaching Voice. "Male primogeniture is when a royal line passes only, or at least, where possible - through the male offspring of the monarch. Which means," he prepared to translate, seeing Arthur's blank gaze, "that only sons born to the king will take the throne, unless there are no sons available, in which case, a daughter will have to do." 

"Oh!" Arthur exclaimed. "I _have_ heard of that, actually. But they changed the rules! It was all in the news. Prince George was a boy anyway, so it didn't matter. But if Princess Charlotte had come first, she could have been the queen." 

Martin looked at Arthur in surprise. "Since when do _you_ watch the news, Arthur?"

"Oh, Herc has it on every morning," Arthur explained. "He says it's good to broaden my horizons."   
  
"And this is an example of us doing just that," Douglas said. "Because although, as you've just cleverly pointed out, we don't have male primogeniture in _England_ anymore, in Liechtenstein it's still very much the fashionable thing." 

"Right," said Arthur. 

"So you see, before Good King Maxi was born, Theresa was first in line for the throne, although it wouldn't have been ideal, because she was a woman. But if she'd been married to this—Baron whatsisname—"

"Shellburger," Arthur supplied.

" _Schellenberg_!" corrected Martin, though he was smiling now. 

"—who, as Martin's just told us, had a connection to the original royal line already - well, that would have suited the family quite well." 

"I can't imagine Theresa being prepared to marry someone just for the family's interests," said Carolyn, critically. "She's far too sensible for that." 

"She was going to break it off, when she was twenty-one," Martin explained. "Until then, she had to pretend she was going along with her parents' wishes. But as soon as Maxi was born, her father let her off." He smiled, wistfully. "He sounds much less dragon-y than Theresa's mother. I wish I'd known him." 

"I suppose, then," Herc mused, "that if Theresa and the Baron had had a son, then both the opposing families would be represented on the throne... It would have sorted out everything." 

"Exactly," Martin agreed. "Which is _why_ , although Theresa's family have been...mostly friendly...I really _hate_ it when I have to be in the same room as Constantin. That's the Baron's first name. Theresa's mother looks from me, to him, then back again, with this...this _look_ on her face, I can't even describe it, and it makes me feel..." he glanced up at Douglas, Herc, and Arthur, who were all taller than him in varying degrees. "Even smaller," he finished, with a sheepish grin. 

Douglas hummed in sympathy. "I can see that it's not ideal."

"And you think that having us around - and do remember that 'us' includes _Arthur_ \- is going to improve your case?" Carolyn asked, incredulous. 

"Well, I was just sort of remembering when the three of you..." Martin glanced behind them. Simon was by now looking at his watch, and Caitlin was helping Wendy with something on her phone. 

Douglas followed his gaze. "Ahhh. You want us to talk you up again."

"Not exactly," Martin said, awkwardly, "the, um, moral support would be appreciated just as much. But also, in fact....yes."  

"Say no more," Douglas said solemnly. "The OJS cheerleading squad shall be in attendance." 

 

 

 

 


End file.
